Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ace Detective
by BonsaiBabe
Summary: Sequel to Gilbert Beilschmidt, Private Eye! This time around things get kind of... hairy... as Gilbert takes on the unusual case of one distraught Kiku Honda. This is probably going to end badly.
1. Chapter 1

**[A/N This is a blurb for the sequel to Gilbert Beilschmidt, Private Eye. In the interest of making it easier for my fans to be alerted when I actually start this story, I've provided this blurb to A) inform the reader of what is to come B) provide the place where I will be placing the story so that one can add a story alert and not have to frequently check my page for activity.**

**Unlike the prequel, this story will be rated M as it will be exploring more in depth Roderich and Gilbert's relationship. To put it another way, there's going to be sexy time! Ahahaha. Why yes, I am in fact a terrible person XD XD XD XD **

**THIRD NOTE: Title will inevitably change when I think of something better. Now onto the blurb!]**

Gilbert Beilschmit—other than having a name more German than you can shake a stick at and being world famous for his awesome swagger—is an ace detective. And don't you forget that. Six months ago, I was considerably less awesome. I'll be honest. I was flat broke, down on my luck, case deprived, and a confirmed bachelor.

Six months later I'm playing life on challenge mode and winning. My private detective business is booming. Sure, I'm on the Italian mafia's payroll but it isn't all bad. Romano has lots of friends looking for a free lance they can contract to get the skinny on a tough situation. There's been quite a learning curve but I feel like I've really gotten the hang of this detective business. Hell, if my bank account that is currently one hundred percent in the green, baby, is anything to go by I must be doing something right.

I've also been dating a kickass, sexy piano player who drives me nuts in a good way. That seems to be going pretty well. I mean, Roderich hasn't thrown anything at my head or gotten overly pissed at me so I must be doing something right. Right now my—er, Roderich is on a tour. Yup, that's right. My, er—alright. My _boyfriend_ is delighting concert halls the world over with his sweet, sonorous music. It makes me proud as a peacock but I still can't wait for him to come home next week.

So that's all the stuff that's been going _right _in my life. But I wouldn't be Gilbert Beilschmidt if I wasn't fucking _something _up, now would I? Ok, so maybe my cases are a little boring. I mean, on your second or third hour of staking a place out you tend to get pretty damned bored. I want some adventure. I want some excitement. I'm starting to get a little restless here. I'm a man! I thirst for danger and adventure!

Sure, having boring cases is a bit of a problem. But it's nothing but a _minor inconvenience_ in comparison to my real problem. Can I be honest here? I'm going to be honest here. Are you ready for me, being completely straight with you? Don't laugh. Here goes. I'mterribleinbed. What? You didn't understand what I'm trying to say? Don't make me say it again. Aw, you're going to make me say it again, aren't you? Ok, fine. I'm terrible in bed. I told you not to laugh. It's not funny. It's a serious fucking problem. Of course, Roderich has assured me that I'm fine. He says I'm perfectly fine in bed. But that's the problem; 'perfectly fine' doesn't translate into 'sexually satisfying.' And I can tell. When we get funky he kind of just seems like he's politely waiting for it to be over. And that's a real blow to my inner man. Worse still, I can't hardly seduce the guy into bed. How am I supposed to practice when my boyfriend prefers strictly above-the-waist cuddling? You can see how this is a problem for me.

But anyways, I shouldn't brood on this sort of stuff, I suppose. Here I am, still in the same cruddy apartment with the dripping corner, still sitting behind the same old desk, sorting through paperwork. The thing about being a legit private eye that nobody tells you about is the paperwork. Every fucking client wants something to show for their money. Preferably in the form of mutilated trees and blue ink. Fucking slave drivers. Is my word good enough? Nope. They all expect _pictures_ and _time logs_ and _detailed reports. _

I was roused from my paperwork by a quiet knock at the front door. "Come in," I bellowed, fully expecting it to be West or Feliciano. Instead, the door opened hesitantly and a man I've never seen before crept in. "I am sorry," The man said, bowing his head. "Is this the office of Gilbert Beilschmidt? I would like to talk to him in regards to an…. Issue I'd like him to look in to."

"Well, that's me," I said, stuffing papers back in their folders as I stood up to introduce myself. "Gilbert Beilschmidt, private eye. Have a seat, Mister….."

"Honda. Kiku Honda. Can you really help me, Mister Beilschmidt?" Honda's voice was soft and slightly accented. Compared to the bellowing Italians I usually had in my joint he seemed to be out of place and too slight with his thin frame and quiet demeanor. He looked uncomfortably serious in the suit pants and dress shirt he was wearing. Even his hair seemed to be serious in its straight, glossy black texture and severely trimmed angles. I'm sure to him my lackluster apartment, messy desk, and sloppy dress were red flags of inefficiency.

"Well. Have a seat and tell me your problem. I'm sure we can come up with something." We both took a seat and I waited for Honda to begin. He looked up at me and blushed when he realized that I was waiting on him to begin.

"Sorry," he murmured. "Yes. My problem. Well, you see Mister Beilschmidt, I have an expensive hobby. I collect rare, valuable breeds of cats." Oh, god. I do not like where this is going. "Several days ago some person unknown broke into my house and stole three of my five prized cats. They left a ransom note. If I do not pay up I will never see my animals again."

"I don't think I'm the right person—" I began gently.

"Please," Honda interjected. His eyes were shimmering and he looked quite distressed. "To me they are more than just cats. I have raised them from kittens and care for them very much. I'm wealthy. I can pay you. Just, please. Please help me."

And in the face of a grown assed Asian man who looks like he's about to cry over some damned cats I could do nothing but reluctantly agree to find his cats.

What is my life coming to?

**[A/N oh my. I can only imagine what you guys are thinking about me right now. It's probably not complementary. But bear with me. I'm going to try my hardest to make this as un-lame as possible. So don't forget to story alert this bitch! Just remember that this story is going on the back burner for some time. But never fear, I shall be back! How can I resist a story all about cats? Come on, you have to admit you're at least a **_**little **_**excited. Ok, maybe not. But you should be. Trust me, I'm a doctor.]**


	2. Back in the Saddle!

"You didn't," Francis gasped, thoroughly scandalized.

I simply shook my head. "Oh, Toni. Toni, Toni, Toni. That's bad, man."

"I know," Antonio lamented, thoroughly overdramatic as he threw himself onto the bar in despair. I narrowly managed to grab his beer glass before it flew into Francis' lap. "You should have _seen_ him though," Antonio said emphatically, popping back up again. "He looked so vulnerable, panting there underneath of me. Then he looked up, and I swear his eyes were as big and innocent as silver dollars, he looked me straight in the eye and said, '_Toni, I-I need you. I need you inside of me right now.' _How could I not cum right there?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how pissed was he?" I asked, morbidly curious.

"Well," Toni said grimly, "Let's put it this way. He didn't knock any of my teeth out but I'm still sleeping on the couch."

Have I mentioned that Toni is a big, huge drama queen? We've been at _McGinty's _for the better part of an hour trying to console him.

"I've gotta take a leak," Toni announced. "I will go wiz you," Francis volunteered. Those two went meandering towards the restrooms while I finished my beer. "Oi, McGinty, another please." McGinty glared at me from the far side of the bar as he polished a glass with a soft cloth. Putting the glass down with a solid _thunk_, McGinty grabbed a beer mug and filled it, deftly swirling and tilting the mug to minimize foam. He placed the drink in front of me with more force than was necessary. The contents of my glass sloshed over the side of the glass and pooled around the base. He's taking it out on the beer now? "Ya know, if this place weren't—" 

"If this place wasn't empty you'd toss all three of us out on our ears. Yeah, yeah. I know," I interjected. I could see McGinty's point. Toni and Francis were rowdy at the best of times, and they certainly didn't know how to discuss their _escapades _with inside voices. But we're regular customers! That ought to count for something, right? McGinty was appraising me with a hard eye. "You? You ain't that bad. At least you still act like a man. Those other two, though," he said, hooking a thumb in the direction of the bathroom, "forget about 'em. Why do you hang out with those dancing queens anyhow?"

I shrugged, taking a sip of my beer. "Believe it or not, they have their moments." McGinty looked less than convinced. I tried to steer the subject away from those two. "How's business been anyways?" I swear he would have spit on the floor if he wasn't the one who would have had to clean it up. Instead, McGinty gave a manly snort and threw his hands up. "It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and you three are the only souls in the place. You tell me, boy-o."

"I don't get it; this place used to be jumpin'" I said.

"I don't get it either," he sighed. "But if it keeps up like this I don't know what I'll do."

Francis and Toni were just coming out of the bathroom, pushing and shoving each other playfully. "Well, you'll always have us," I said sarcastically. McGinty snorted in response and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'that's what I'm afraid of,' though I couldn't be sure with the racket from Toni and Francis in the background. McGinty retreated back to his little corner as Francis and Toni took their places at the bar. "Enough about me," Toni said, leaning on the bar with his elbow. "Tell us about you, Gil. How's it going with Roderich?"

"Nothin's really changed," I said with a shrug. "We still get on pretty well. Except when I try to fuck him." Toni and Francis shook their heads with grim sympathy. "You know what _you_ should do," Francis began, pointing his glass at me. Oh, no. Not more advice. I've gotten more _advice_ and _pro-tips_ from these two since I spilled my secret (I was drunk, give me a break) then I could shake a stick at. And it was all shit, in my opinion. "Don't look at me like zat Gilbert," Francis chided. "At least I know how to please a man," he said haughtily. I swear McGinty chocked on his own spit. I'm gonna guess we've got about seven minutes before the man has had enough and chucks us out.

"Listen, I know you guys are just trying to help out," I began, intent on stopping this train wreck before it left the station.

"Gil, we know what we're talking about," Toni cut in. "Now, it's all about the _angle. _It's a bit tricky at first, but once you get the feel of it, it'll get easier. Most of all, you just need to relax. Have fun! Just do what comes natural, you know?"

"That's the problem," I said, waving my hands around angrily. "First off, Roddy hates jumping in the sack. Hell, I can't blame him. I wouldn't let me fuck me either! I'm terrible at it."

"Zat is a poor attitude to have," Francis observed. I waved him off and continued. "Second, whenever I _do _manage to get him in the mood, we're both so worked up. I'm always thinkin' in the back of my mind that I'm gonna screw everything up and he's just as awkward. He'd rather cuddle on the couch and watch a movie then do it with me."

"Have you talked about this with him," Toni asked. "Well no," I replied like he was stupid. "Men don't _talk _about their problems. It's bad enough that I'm bitching to you guys about it." Toni and Francis both shook their heads at me. "You need to be in touch wiz your feminine zide," Francis said. Like hell I will. I'm not even sure I have a feminine side. And if I do, the last thing I want to do is contact it. Her. Him? See, it's already getting complicated. Grimacing at the thought, I took another swig of beer and thought about how to change the subject.

"Do you want to hear about my new case," I said suddenly. Francis nodded and Toni made an encouraging sound past his drink. "You'll never believe this," I said. "This strange little Asian dude wandered into my office the other day and offered me an exorbitant sum to find his _cats. _Yeah. His cats. I can't believe it either," I said as I surveyed their faces. "I wasn't going to take the case—sounds like more trouble than it's worth and I'm not sure this guy's mentally hinged right. But it sounded like a whole hell of a lot of money for the trouble." That, and I couldn't bear the thought of that strange guy bawling all over my desk blotter over his precious cats. I mean, how whacked does your life have to be to get all worked up over three missing cats? He's obviously one of those crazy cat people who have no relatives or friends. As depressing as this sounds, those beasts are probably _family _to him.

"Cats," Francis said critically. "Ah have heard of a lot of markets for exotic pets, but cats? Never. Not when you can get one at ze shelter for free."

"The motive wasn't theft, it's blackmail."

"Blackmail? For cats? That's ridiculous. No mob would ever touch that," Toni interjected. That was a good point. This case sounded more personal. Someone who knew Mr. Honda, knew he had those cats, and knew he was loaded. Personal motives? I couldn't rule those out either. Perhaps someone wanted to upset him? But why? My pondering was broken by the sound of Francis' obnoxious ringtone. _A ringtone to match his personality, _I snorted to myself. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and answered it. Francis talked to someone in French for awhile while Toni and I sat awkwardly on either side of him, nursing our drinks. "…Mais oui, mon cher. Moi aussi. C'est vrai; à sept heures au _The Joker_. Oui, oui, a bientot. Bises!" Francis finished and put the cell down on the bar, beaming.

"You sure look happy. Who was it," inquired Toni.

"Zis wonderful lad ah met at ze market. We were both reaching for ze same baguette. Eet was fate. Ah asked him out and he said yes! Old Francis has a _petit rendezvous _tonight."

"How old is this kid," I asked suspiciously.

"Seventeen," Francis practically sighed lovingly.

"Ugh," I responded, "Francis, you're a damned man-eater. A… a… _cougar, _but _wrong-er."_

"You call it wrong, I call it _amore," _he sniffed haughtily. I just shook my head. Like talking to a brick wall… I made a mental note to find this kid before Francis ruins him completely. I'd try to deal with it now, but I've got my own fish to fry at the moment. Roddy's coming home tomorrow, you see. I'm picking him up in the morning. Man, it's all I can think about. He's been gone for over a month, out on tour. Sure, we spoke on the phone every chance we got, but it ain't the same, and we both felt it.

Staring into the dredges of my cup, I briefly wondered if I'd still be as crazy for Roderich as I had been—as I _thought _I'd been. A month is a long time. Certainly long enough for passions to cool and the memory of what his skin felt like against mine to fade. Worse still, Roderich was traveling the world. And as awesome as I am, and as much as it pains me to say this, I'm pretty sure I'm not the most awesome person in the whole wide world. And there's no denying that Roderich could find someone who better fits in to his own little posh music world a whole lot better than me.

I was suddenly feeling nervous at the reunion, and having Francis chattering in my ear about whatever poor schoolboy he seduced wasn't helping. Pushing the rest of my beer aside, I made my excuses to Toni and Francis and took off. On the short walk back to my crummy apartment, I had a smoke, knowing that if everything went well tomorrow, this would be the last smoke I would have in a very long time.

XxXxX

I was just heading out the door when my phone rang. Impatiently, I took it out of my pocket and grunted a hello. It was Romano. Great.

"No, I _don't _have those reports ready for you. And no, they're not going to be done by this evening. Look, I already told you Big Sal was planning on taking the money and running out on you. Isn't that enough for now?"

"No, actually, it's not," Romano said in that slow I'm-speaking-to-an-imbecile voice. He was practiced at it—probably from using it on Toni so often. "You see, Gilbert, I like _facts _and _pictures_ and _hard evidence_. Because if you blow a man's knee caps out, you don't want to have to go back later and apologize if some other asshole did it. _Capische?_ "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Don't you make me an accessory to your mob shit! I don't want to know. I just don't. As far as I'm concerned, you're just going to fire him, alright?"

"Get me those reports or you don't get paid," Romano yelled into the phone before hanging up. "I don't have time for this shit," I mumbled, running my fingers through my hair. I popped back over to my desk and grabbed a stack of files before heading out the door. I suppose I can do some work while I'm waiting for Roddy's plane to come in. Being an adult sucks.

XxXxX

The waiting was terrible. They tell you your plane's gonna land at 10:30. Sounds reasonable, right? Then you get stuck in all those stupid delays; overcrowded tarmacs, tardy stewardesses, inefficient pilots, asshole weather conditions, Langoliers, rips in the space/time continuum—flying's a bitch man. I looked at my watch. It read five till noon. Son of a bitch.

I'd long ago given up scribbling out those reports for Romano. It was just too damn noisy here. Besides, I was feeling restless. I checked the arrivals board again, and found out Roddy's plane had landed. I made my way up to the waiting area. It was a madhouse of crying children and red faced relatives waiting apathetically for whatever member of the family they happened to be guilt tripped into seeing home. The passengers trickled slowly into the already crowded waiting room. I craned my head and fought an urge to stand on my tippy toes as I looked for Roderich. Can't these people move any faster?

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I glimpsed Roderich's dark hair. My stomach did a funny little flip. Our eyes met across the waiting room and he smiled, tired and relieved to be home. I pushed my way past the crowd without so much as an apology. "Hey," Roderich greeted me. "Hey," I mumbled back, moving in for a hug. We kept it brief, and afterwards I took Roddy's carry-on bag for him. We walked towards luggage retrieval together. Roddy told me a little about his trip as we waited for his bags to fall onto the conveyor. "It was pretty intense—there was a stretch where I played a concert every night—but it was fantastic. I saw so much and met so many people. I wish you could have been there."

"Me too," I agreed. We finally managed to fish his bags out of the queue and pile them onto a wheeled carrier. Fighting our way out of the airport was just as difficult. I swear, people do not get the concept of _walking_ and _standing to the side_ these days. I don't care if you're lost, I don't care if you're tired. I don't want to wait for your fucking kid to toddle along behind you on some sort of kid leash. I just. Want. To get. To the. Car. After an eternity we finally cleared the front doors. I led the way back to where I had parked.

"What are these," Roderich asked, picking up the files I had brought along. "Work," I replied. "Work," Roderich said, raising an eyebrow. "You brought work along? I'm impressed. Looks like you've been keeping it together while I've been gone."

"Contrary to popular believe," I said, "I don't need you around to kick my ass in gear. I can be responsible all by myself." Roderich actually snorted. "Well, just think of how productive you'll be now that I'm home. We might actually get you out of bed before brunch one of these days."

"What is so damned interesting at seven in the morning that you people keep insisting I get up for? Anything before eleven is a wash, in my opinion." Roderich just rolled his eyes and shook his head. But he was smiling—we both were. Nothing says 'I missed you' like a good argument right off the bat.

I pushed Roddy's bags up to my car and popped the trunk. Then, I did a quick survey of the parking lot. We were all alone in the lazy summer sun. I moved over to Roddy, and snaking a hand around his waist, pulled him in for a kiss. Man, have I missed those lips. I pulled away softly and said "I've really, really missed you."

"I couldn't tell," Roderich replied sarcastically before kissing me again. "I've missed you too."

"Well, let's hurry up and get home so we can discuss how much we've missed each other in privacy," I suggested with a grin. Roderich agreed easily. We chucked his bags into my trunk (Jeeze, how much shit do you really need to take with you on a concert tour?) and got into the car. It's seriously going to take all of my willpower to not break every speed limit between here and my place.

XxXxX

**[A/N HEY THERE YOU PEOPLE WHO HAVEN'T HEARD FROM ME IN A LONG TIME! :D How have ya been out there? Are we ready for another crazy go at cheesy detective stories? Fuck yes we are. **

**Please bear with me while I get back into the groove of things. I'm still trying to slip back into detective!Gilbert mode. I'm also experimenting with chapter length. Like I said, bear with me. Please review to let me know how I'm doing, what I need to improve on, ect. Thanks for reading, btw!**

**Lastly—and I'm going to plug this until you're simply sick of seeing it—I have a tumblr! Please visit .com for more of the author's personal shenanigans.]**


	3. Pavlovian Slaves

"Been keeping busy, I see," Roderich said approvingly as he surveyed my overflowing desk top. I must have had ten cases sitting out in various stages of completion. A lot of them just needed the final paperwork done. I tend to procrastinate on that. "Well, I needed something to do since you ran off to Europe on me," I joked as I brought us some drinks in from the kitchen. "Besides, what's more interesting; me or that paperwork, hmm?" I patted the cushion next to me on the couch. "Get over here, Roddy."

With a smile, Roddy joined me on the couch. I slung my arm around him and pulled him close. "Can we watch the news," he murmured. I rolled my eyes good naturedly. "I guess," I answered laboriously. "But only because I've missed you." The news. Whole bunch of doom and gloom, if you ask me. Everything is _Euro crisis_ this and _fatal stabbing_ that. And it's like an hour long. Every single day. How do they find that much stuff to talk about? If I ran the news, I could get that shit done in five minutes flat. I mean, do you really need to know about a blight on the vines at Martha's Vineyard or new trade agreements with Spain? Does it affect you personally? Do you really even care that much? I'm pretty sure you'd be lying if you said you did.

Roddy turned the channel to the news and I sneaked a peak at my watch. We'd just catch the last quarter of an hour. I guess I'll survive. The only thing I'd be interested in seeing is the weather report. But it never seems to be on. Have you ever noticed that? Watching the news was torture. All I wanted to do was fidget, but somehow I held it in until the credits rolled. Finally, Roderich turned his attention back to me. "Too bad we missed most of it," he commented. "Yeah," I said in false agreement. More like too bad we seen some of it. "What'd you want to do now," I asked.

"Not much," Roddy replied, laying his head on my shoulder. "I'm all adventured out. It just feels good to be home and relaxing. Did you really miss me," he asked suddenly, sitting up enough to watch my face as I responded. "More than I'm going to admit aloud," I answered. I carded my fingers through his hair to get the feel of it. I ran my fingers over the little piece that would never stay down. Roderich hated that piece, but I thought it gave him character. Plus, it was funny to watch him spend five minutes smoothing it down with hair gel and hair spray, just to have it pop back up in half a minute. Roderich placed his hand over mine as it traced the curve of his cheek and allowed his eyes to droop shut. Fatigue was etched into every crevice of his face. He never quite could get rested up when he was abroad, Roderich had told me over the phone. There was just something about sleeping in a strange bed, so very far away from home, that nagged at his brain and kept him from truly relaxing. I could see a month of small strain on his face, along with jet lag and the discomfort that came from traveling long hours in a cramped plane.

Still, he chose to be here with me instead of across town, unpacking and napping in his own bed. Maybe when he said it felt good to be home, he didn't just mean geographically speaking. I contemplated this a moment before placing a soft kiss on his forehead. His violet eyes fluttered open, and he pulled me into a kiss. I followed up with another, just as soft and languid. Roderich wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me harder. He was insistent, I'll give him that. I let my lips part for him, and soon his tongue was tracing circles over the roof of my mouth. Getting frisky, eh? He must have _really _missed me. I can't say I'm complaining, though.

My hands traced down his chest, over his sides, until I reached the bottom buttons of his dress shirt. I undid them and slipped a hand under. Finally, I was touching his skin. It's been too long. I could taste him too, as his mouth worked against mine. Roderich's own hands slipped down from burying themselves in my hair to caress smoothly at my waist. I could hear our breathing now, slightly elevated and beginning to turn ragged. Roderich reached boldly for the waistband of my pants, and undid the button. I was going crazy. I don't think he's ever been so bold, and I like it. I like it a lot.

_Ding-dong_. I—what was that? The doorbell? At a time like this? Maybe if I ignore it, it'll—_ding dong!_ Roderich pulled away from me, and glanced puzzlingly to the door. "Gil, the doorbell's ringing."

"No, it's not," I assured him, trying to move in for another kiss. It rang again, and Roderich pushed me away from him. "Gil," he said in that disapproving tone. "If we're quiet, they'll go away," I grumbled.

"That's not the point," Roderich said exasperatedly. Then what. What's the point? Just because a doorbell rings, we have to just let whomever in? What are we? Disgusting Pavlovian slaves? "Quit pouting and answer the door," Roderich chided as he redid the buttons of his shirt. I stalked to the door, clearly not happy. After undoing the bolt, I threw it open. "Oh. It's you," I said flatly.

"That's a rude welcome," West said. Since West was a head taller than Feliciano, I could see his disapproving face quite well, despite the fact that Feli was carrying two big bags and blocking the door. "I brought lasagna," Feliciano chimed in helpfully. "We wanted to give Roderich a welcome back dinner!" By this time Roderich had made his way over to the door. I noticed he'd smoothed his hair back down. All except for that little piece. I sighed, realizing that the moment had passed. Roderich didn't look nearly as regretful as he helped Feliciano carry the bags into the kitchen. I stood by the doorframe glowering at the world. West cleared his throat politely. "Gil, your fly's undone."

"I know," I snapped, angrily doing up the button and zipper.

"Oh," West replied, comprehension dawning as he took in my undone pants and disheveled hair. He ducked his head and fled to the kitchen. At least he has the decency to look ashamed of himself.

Even if our guests were inconvenient and annoying, at least they brought awesome Italian food with them. Feliciano's a great cook. I could eat his cooking every day, but I don't envy West for living with him. There's a price for such deliciousness. A heavy price. "I got my hand stuck in a pickle jar yesterday," Feliciano volunteered out of nowhere. "You know," I said as I reached for another piece of fresh garlic bread, "somehow, I'm not that surprised."

"Gilbert, be nice," Roderich chided, glaring at me from across the table. Roderich turned his gaze towards West. "So how's it going on the force, Ludwig?" Ludwig made a so-so sign with his hands as he finished chewing. "Same old, same old out there. I've been assigned a new partner, though. Mort, my old one, retired." I met Mort a time or two. He was old and stuffy and perpetually looked down on anything fun or exiting. He and West got along fantastically. "This new guy, I'm not so sure about him," West continued. "He plays it a little loose for my taste. Romano insisted we be assigned together, though," West said, giving me a meaningful glance. I glared back. Somehow, during the aftermath of the emotional shit storm that had been Romano and Feliciano's reconciliation, Feliciano had managed to convince West to go on the Vargas's payroll. When West told me, I'd been flabbergasted. My brother, my _policeman_ brother, who loved staunch authoritarianism and playing by the rules, was willingly taking a blind eye when it came to mob activity? It was frightening the lengths he would go to make Feliciano happy. I hadn't quite realized how much the little Italian mean to him before that.

Still, I had made him promise to keep our involvement with the Vargas family a secret from Roderich. I'm pretty sure Roddy wouldn't be pleased to know that I was involved with Romano. He isn't exactly a nice guy—and the work he does isn't exactly on the up and up. As far as Roderich was concerned, the recent boom in my business came from vigorous advertising on my part—adds in the paper, fliers, a little billboard on the side of this restaurant downtown. Sure, I got a little business here and there from those, but it was Romano's recommendation that got me the most flow. However, Roderich absolutely could not know. That's why I was giving that idiot brother of mine the glare to end all glares.

"Romano?" Roderich asked.

"Uh, yeah," West said, wiping his mouth and glancing at my stony face. "He's, um, like a supervisor for the force."

"Like a captain or something," Roderich asked, exercising his mastery of small talk. For once, I wish he could just let something go. Damn the parlour school training on that boy.

"Something like that," West said uneasily. Feliciano was attempting to look as inconspicuous as possible—which is to say, he looked suspicious as fuck. West and I had both sat him down and explained how Roderich was not to know about the Vargas family. But would you trust that idiot with a secret? "Ludwig and I are thinking about adopting a baby," Feliciano blurted out nervously, as he withered under my glare. Even Roderich couldn't help but be rattled by that outburst. At the head of the table, West's face was a funny kind of purple, and he may have been choking on ziti. "A _dog,_ Feliciano. I said we could adopt a _dog," _he finally managed to choke out.

"Well, yeah," Feliciano said, as if that should be obvious. "But a baby one."

"I just—you can't say—" West began. "I need a smoke," he finished tiredly before throwing his napkin onto his empty plate. "I'll go with you," I said, pushing my chair back. "If I catch you smoking I'm going to ring your neck, Gilbert," Roderich warned as my brother and I exited the room.

"Do you figure it's safe to leave them alone together," I asked quietly as I shut the door of my apartment behind us. West said that he figured they'd be alright. Feliciano was probably shoveling pastries and wine down Roderich's throat and asking him about his stay in Italy.

Ludwig lit a cigarette as we descended the final set of stairs to the main door. My little brother was becoming quite the rebel these days. It was lovely outside, the afternoon sun warming the pavement almost enough to make it shimmer. I enjoyed the warm weather, though West hated it. Ludwig took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled it through his nose. He offered me the pack. "Better not," I said, reluctantly refusing the pack. "We're both whipped," my brother snorted. I opened my mouth to make a snide retort, but shut it. Maybe we were, just a little. How depressing.

"So, how about that weather—" I began lamely. West cut me off, though. "He actually wants a baby. A real, live kid. We'd have to adopt, of course…" he trailed off. Ouch. A kid? That sounds serious. "That's rough," I said, exhaling heavily. Could you imagine me, an uncle? "I'm guessing you don't," I asked.

"Well," West snorted, shaking his head. He took another long drag on his cigarette before answering. "I hadn't really thought about it after I realized—well, you know. Dammit, Gilbert, it's a huge commitment. I love Feliciano. I love him with my whole heart. But I'm just not sure about kids. Is that selfish of me?"

"No," I assured him. "I think it's smart. If you're not sure then wait. You'd be stupid to adopt if you're not ready. And if the day comes when you two are ready, I think you're going to make a hell of a great set of parents." I meant every word. West smiled at me and thanked me for listening. That's alright. That's what brothers are for. We may not get along all of the time, but I've got this guy's back, you can be sure about that. "For now, I've convinced him to adopt a puppy," West said, chuckling a little.

"Yeah, better make sure he can keep that alive before you go for something bigger."

"Don't even joke about something like that," West said, but he was smiling. "I'm glad you came down here with me. I didn't want to say anything in front of Feli, but that new guy Romano has me partnered with is crazy. He's going to get us killed or caught, and I can't decide which one is worse."

"What do you mean," I asked.

"He's a loose cannon. Twice now, he's pulled a gun on unarmed suspects. You can't do shit like that. I'm just wondering how long it's going to be before he kills someone. They don't take that kind of thing lightly. This guy's bad news, Gil. The hell am I going to do with a crazy son of a bitch as a partner?"

"Ask your captain to switch," I said.

"Can't. Romano specifically sat the captain down and ordered that I be partnered up with Kirkland. I swear he's trying to make my life a living hell."

"I thought you two were getting along better these days."

"We are, but he still doesn't like me. I hate being on his payroll, but Feli—" West couldn't even finish. He waved the hand holding his cigarette around, vaguely punctuating what he was trying to say. "Ah, forget it," West said, dropping his cigarette on the ground, and stomping it out with the heel of his shoe. "Let's get back inside. Feli made my favorite dessert."

XxXxX

"So, now they they're gone," I said, putting my arms around Roderich as he stood at the sink in the kitchen. "Not now, Gil. I'm washing dishes."

"Leave them," I said, exasperated. "I'll get them later. You just got home today. You need to relax. Why don't we go to the bedroom and—"

"Listen, I appreciate the sentiment, but I have to be back to the theater, early tomorrow morning to start practicing for the Holtzberg Memorial Gala." I groaned. Did I really just get cock blocked by a dead guy? "I'm sorry, Gil," Roderich said, turning around in my arms so that he faced me. "Just not tonight. How about we go out tomorrow night? It'll be Friday… we can have a lot of fun… and I can stay the whole weekend, if you'd like."

"Alright," I said laboriously.

"How about we curl up and watch a movie before we hit the hay," Roderich suggested. "We can cuddle." _I want to cuddle with your face_, I thought grumpily. Still, I should stop being selfish. I could tell he was tired, and he did promise to spend the whole weekend with me. I'm just not good at the whole 'not getting what you want right now' thing.

XxXxX

**[A/N I'm going to be sticking to a Sunday update schedule. Not saying that I'm going to be perfect at hitting it each week, but I'm really going to try my darndest. **

**Also, I've decided to start a new thing, for anyone interested. Each Sunday I'm going to post a Gilbert detective extra on my tumblr. It'll be me explaining my world, and the various reoccurring themes and culture references I throw in, that perhaps people don't notice, or small ficlets about events that don't happen on the main story line. Like I said, it'll be an entry every Sunday on my tumblr. If you miss one or come late to the game, you can search Ace Detective Extras on my tumblr search box (it's a magnifying glass icon at the very bottom of the page) to pull up the entries. This week will be a look at Gilbert's apartment—it's actually based on something and you'll be able to see the layout. Also, feel free to visit my tumblr, .com for more author shenanigans at any time!**

**Also, this site is doing a new thing where you can put a picture up for your story. If anyone is interested in drawing me an art cover for this or any of my other stories, I'd be willing to pay you in a fanfiction of your choice!**

**Please review! I'd love some crit or some love, whichever you feel like giving.]**


	4. Sentiment can't be bought

"Gil, Gil wake up," Roderich commanded as he shook me. Groggily, I rolled over and cracked my eyes open. A towel hung around his neck, and his hair was still damp from his shower. I hadn't even heard him get up. "It's almost seven, shouldn't you be getting ready?"

"For what," asked, letting my eyes roll back shut. "I don't know," Roderich commented, "appointments? Investigations? Whatever it is you do." Yes, I did have an appointment with Honda today, but that wasn't until after lunch. I suppose I should stop in to see Romano first, but still, that didn't warrant getting up at seven. I groaned and rolled over, away from Roddy. "Now you're just being childish," he grumbled, but after that he left me to my dozing. At a quarter till, Roddy came back in to tell me he was leaving. Groggily, I sat up and he hugged me goodbye. "Take a shower, you stink," he said before he left. Real nice, Roddy. God forbid he gets into some sort of bizarre tragic accident today. Just think, his last words, the last time we spoke, would be _take a shower, you stink. _If that ain't tragic, I don't know what is.

I took his advice, though, when I finally did get up. In the bathroom, Roderich's towel was drying on the side of the tub. After living alone so long, it was odd to see things like this around my apartment. I hopped in the shower. Some of Roddy's toiletries were sitting on the shelf of the bath. Again, after having him gone a month, it was odd to see them there. His touch was in the kitchen, too, I noted, as I saw a bowl and spoon drying in the dish rack. I should have gotten up and had breakfast with him, at least. Well, I never claimed to be a thoughtful guy.

I ate breakfast at my desk, scribbling in last-minute details on those reports for Romano. When they were finished, I packed them into my bag and strode towards the door. I was late already—and it had taken ten minutes to find my shoes and keys—so I was fairly running down the stairs. And who do you think I almost bowl over? The naggy wench who lives across the hall. "_Excuse me,"_ she says in a voice that really means excuse _you._ I mumbled an apology through my teeth and attempted to squeeze past her. Unfortunately, she blocked half the stairwell, and seemed intent on talking. "_Mister_ Beilschmidt, I hope you realize that there are parking regulations at this apartment complex. I have happened to notice that you continually park in 22B's spot, causing Mr. Jones to have to park in _your _spot—"

"He hasn't said a word to me about it," I said, exasperated. I really, _really _need to be going! "And if it doesn't bother him, why should you care."

"There are rules for a reason, young man. If you park in Mr. Jones' spot, what's to stop him from parking in _my _spot? With my gout, I simply cannot afford to walk." If I recall correctly, the old hag has a handicap sticker. It would be stupid of Jones to take a handi and risk the bajillion dollar fine. I frowned a moment. Think your way out of this one, Gilbert. She'll never let you go if you don't use your wits!

"You know, Mrs—uh, ma'am," I don't even know her name. "You're right. I hadn't thought of it that way. I'll go move my car right now." The cow frowned at me, as if deciding if she should lecture me some more, just to be safe. "Well, alright. I shan't keep you then. I'm glad you saw it my way, Mister Beilschmidt." I mumbled a goodbye before squeezing past her and sprinting the rest of the way down the stairs. Finally, I was outside. I hopped in the car and was off.

Traffic wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be, and thank god, I mostly hit green lights. So who wasn't late to his meeting with Romano? This guy right here. Though, I will admit it weirds me out when we meet at his house instead of his office. I mean, I'm not crazy about having to sit in a chair I was once duct taped to, but seeing where Romano lived was definitely something I could have died happy without knowing. Did I mention Toni lives with him? Well, I don't know if he _actually _does, but he's there every single time I drop by, and he's never mentioned having a place of his own… This situation falls under the category of 'things I don't ask too many questions about.' After all, take away the ambiguity and you can never _not _know, you know?

I shook my head, clearing away a very disturbing image of Romano and Toni using the same shower—possibly at the same time—and rang the doorbell. One guess as to who opened the door. You don't think that Romano actually answers his own door, do you? I don't even think the diva answers his own phone. "Hey, Gilbert! Come in. I just frosted a cake, want some?"

"Uh, no thanks, Toni," I said, pushing my way past him into the house. If you don't lead Toni away from the door he'll keep you talking on the porch all day. Romano hasn't been able to train him to invite guests inside the house. I guess Toni figures that if you really want to come in, you'll come in. "I just want to get these files to Romano, and get going. Where's he at?" Toni pointed to the open door at the end of the hall. I walked down there, and found Romano at his little home office. Romano looked up from his computer, and scowled. Nice to see you too. I pulled the files out of my bag and dropped them on his desk. Romano opened the top one and skimmed the first page. "Took you long enough," he commented. I shrugged. "I'm busy these days."

"I come first," he said, looking up from the files, favoring me with a dangerous glance. He's like a dog; you can't let him scent fear. I shrugged my shoulders again. "Alright, princess."

"Hey listen," Romano growled. He was standing now, leaning on his desk and pointing a finger in my face. "You wouldn't have _shit_ without me, _capiche?_ I _own _your punk ass. And if I tell you to jump, you better fucking hop to it, _cornuto._ Your clients? All _my_ clients and friends who I've funneled your way. Your brother? I'm basically paying him to be good to Feli and keep his mouth shut. Your stupid piano playing boyfriend? You'd never have fixed his little discretion without me. You're fucking boozing buddy Antoinio? He doesn't leave the house without my say. Your happiness is a gift from me, got it? You want to keep being happy, you do what I tell you. And more importantly, you do it _when _I tell you."

"Well here it is," I said, waving a hand at the reports. "It's all there, and it's all damned good investigating. You know I do awesome work, and you pay half the consultation fee for it. You ain't providing chairity for me, Vargas. I bust my ass for you. And whatever you have going with West and Feliciano is your business. It isn't a favor to me. All I ask is that you let me do my job. When I walk in here and get a fuckton of attitude I don't deserve, it pisses me off."

"Whatever," Romano said, sitting back down. Whatever? That's it? He's such a little twerp. At least he was scribbling my check now. He tore it out of the pad and handed it to me. The memo line read _over-priced consultation. _He's such a jerk. I didn't wait for his leave; I exited the office in a huff. "Are you sure you won't stay for cake," Toni asked as I passed him in the hall. "After seeing that asshole, I've lost my appetite."

"Gil," he whined. "I've asked you to be nicer to Lovi. You two are terrible to each other."

"Well Toni, unlike you, I'm not going to suck his dick, especially when he doesn't ask nicely." The shocked look on Toni's face made me feel bad for a moment, but I was already half out the door. Besides, real men don't apologize.

XxXxX

As I pulled up to the gated community, I cursed myself. Why in the hell would I accept a case as fucking trivial as missing cats? What the heck was I smoking when Honda came into my office? I mean, sure, the guy looked sad and all, but he's a grown man. He needs to build a bridge, and get over it. I told the man at the gate that Honda was expecting me, and he let me though. I made my way up the hill, and meanwhile, my mind was boggling at these houses. Talk about posh! This Honda guy must be oozing money. He could buy a whole army of cats, if he could afford to live here. Better yet, he could take his snobby ass down to the shelter and adopt some strays like a decent human being would do. A cat's a cat—it still hacks up hairballs and scratches up your furniture, no matter if it has blue blood papers or not.

I pulled up to house 1305. This should be Honda's joint. I left my car parked on the curb, and noticed immediately how shabby it was compared to the neighbor's rides. I better finish my business quickly before the neighbors call the gatehouse and complain of a vagrant car spoiling their view. The sprinkler clicked on to water the plush, unnaturally green lawn as I tread up the walk. Waste of water. My German sensibilities are offended. I was a little disappointed to note that Honda didn't have any cat statues or ornaments on his lawn or porch. That would have been the perfect indication of just how off his rocker he was. Ah, maybe the covenants of the community forbid tacky ceramics in the yard. Shame.

In a last ditch reserve of hope, I crossed my fingers that the doorbell would be a cat meow, or something. Alas, it wasn't. Nobody ever lets me have any fun. Well, there's always the interior to look forward to. Five bucks says I see at least four pieces of feline paraphernalia. Honda opened the door. "Ah, Mr. Beilschmidt, please come in. But please, if you could be so kind, remove your shoes." He ushered me into his house. "I lost track of time," he said apologetically. "I was out back having my lunch. I forgot you were coming today."

"Don't mind me, finish your lunch. We can talk as you eat."

"Ah, very well. Please, if you would come out back with me?" Kiku led me through his house, and I looked around surreptitiously. And no, not just for cat statues, thank you very much. You can learn a lot about someone by what sort of home they keep. Forget the eyes, it's the living room that's a window to the soul. Honda's was sparsely, yet finely furnished. The furniture was modern and low, the color scheme beige and white. Unobtrusive, yet functional. The pictures in the hall were a mismatch of old Japanese style landscape prints, and black-and-white shots of cities. Stylish, yet traditional. Hmmm. The whole house was spotless and un-mussed. A man of his means must have a house keeper.

He led me out to a nice little patio, with an expensive looking garden set for lunch. I was instantly jealous of Honda's yard. It was beautiful. Bamboo grew all along the tall white fence around Honda's yard, broken only when small, well formed trees filled the space. In the center of the yard, there was a large shady tree with a lovely carved stone bench setting underneath. Stepping stones meandered through the yard, fuzzy in shape by the moss encroaching upon them. The flower beds were perfect; there wasn't a wilted or unflowered plant in sight. On the far right of the yard was an in ground pool. It was several moments before I could bring myself to train my eyes back to Honda.

"Can I get you something to eat," Honda asked. I waved him away. "No, thanks. I've eaten already. I'd just like to get down to business. To be frank, I don't know if I can help you, Mr. Honda. This case is… unusual, to say the least." Honda set his fork down, looking distressed. "Please, Mr. Beilschmidt, I can pay—"

"That's not the issue," I said gently. "If this is a case of breaking and entering, as you indicated when you came to my office, perhaps it'll be best if the police handle it."

"But they said in the note, if I get the police involved…" he trailed off, looking away.

"When you get a note telling you not to call the police, that's probably about the time you should."

"The police won't care," Honda said, eyes flashing." I need someone like you, someone who's paid to care about these things." I held back a wince. He wasn't wrong, per se, but it did rather make me feel like a money grubber. "I know you must think me odd," Honda said. He was looking into the distance, but his gaze went farther. His mind was a million miles away, in some other place, maybe even in some other time. "You think they are simply pets. Pets can be replaced. It's the sentiment that I cannot replace. You see, the cats belonged to my son. They were a present, a little companionship for him as he wasted away in his bed. When a father buys a ten year old a cat, he takes it for granted that his son will outlive it. I was not so fortunate. We—" here, Honda chocked up, "we buried Natsuno so very far from home. My wife could not take the grief, and returned to her family in Okinawa.

"She left me the cats, and separation papers," Honda finished. He was flushed in the face, though it did nothing to give him a glow. He looked sick, and sad. I was reminded of why I agreed to take his case in the first place. "I'm sorry," I choked out, on numb lips. Of all the people Honda could have spilled his soul to, I was probably the worst choice. I mean, I empathize with him, I really do, but his grief made me uncomfortable. My words were awkward, and I knew there was nothing I could say to make him feel better. I also didn't want to give him hope. I was _good,_ but sometimes there's only so much you can do before a case goes closed. This is the real world, not _Murder, She Wrote. _Investigation had its limits, and I certainly couldn't count on a _dues ex machina _moment to magically make everything ok, no matter how much Honda might deserve one.

But hell, I'd be a coward not to try for the man. After he's lost so much, how could I sit by as he lost more? I really, really wanted to find whoever did this to him, and jack them in the fucking jaw. My lips pressed in a thin line. "Mr. Honda, I wish I could promise you… I can't guarantee I'll be able to do anything for you, but I'm willing to try." Honda met my eyes. He was still sad, but at least that tired look of defeat had retreated. "Thank you, Mr. Beilschmidt. That is all I can ask."

"Call me Gil," I replied. I cleared my throat, a little uncomfortable, but set in my decision. "Now, if you could tell me exactly what happened the night of the robbery…"

God help me, but I love a lost cause case.

XxXxX

**[A/N Sorry I missed an update last week, but I had some unpleasant personal issues that prevented me from updating. I would sincerely appreciate reviews!] **


	5. The Butler Did It!

"On the seventeenth," Honda began, "I had an overnight business trip. Normally, when I go out of town, I leave my pets with my gardener."

"His name?" I asked, pulling out my notebook and pencil.

"Oh, Heracles Karpusi. All of this around us," Honda gestured to the beautiful gardens and luscious lawn, "this is Heracles' work."

"Yeah, it's really nice," I agreed. Honda murmured a thanks, then continued with his story. "Normally, I leave my pets with Heracles when I travel, but I was only going on an overnight trip. I left the cats food in their dish and extra bowls of water. I thought they would be ok. I—" Honda paused, looking away. "I thought they'd be alright."

I said nothing. The guy sure did blame himself something fierce over this. "When I came home the next day—it must have been around six o'clock—I didn't notice anything amiss until I called for my pets. Only Sakura and Toku came. Puzzled, I looked in every room of the house, and found nothing. It was not until I walked into the—what is it that Heracles calls it? The dirt room?"

"A mud room?" I supplied. "Like, a closed in porch where you can wash up after being outside?"

"Yes," Honda said. "A mud room. Of course. Indeed, it is a converted side porch, as you suggested. The panes of glass were broken in the door that leads to the inside. A window was broken on the porch. By the door with the broken windows, a note was left, tied to a rock. You will, of course, want it. I will fetch it when we return to the house. It reads, 'We have your cats. We know how important they are to you. We will be in contact shortly. Ransom will be negotiated. Do not call the police. We are watching you.'"

That sounds like the worst ransom note I've ever heard of. Granted, I've yet to come upon an honest to goodness ransom note in my career as a detective, but I've watched enough movies to know a quality ransom note. Too many we's. And not very menacing, either. I mean, I don't want Honda to be overly upset, but I'm just saying that if _I_ wrote a ransom note, I'd threaten to send back a paw if he didn't cooperate. Alright, alright, I'm getting off topic.

"Any contact with the police," I asked.

"No," Honda said, looking alarmed. "I dare not risk it."

"Alright," I said, ripping a piece of paper out of my notebook. I scribbled down a name and number. "This is my brother's number. He's a cop. I want you to give him a call and schedule an appointment. I'll give him a call tonight to explain the situation. Here's what's going to happen: Ludwig is going to come to your house, not in uniform, just in street clothes. Take him around and let him have a look at the window. He'll bring a measuring tape and piss around, and scribble some numbers into a book. If someone _is _watching your place—" I found this very unlikely. I mean, I'm going to hazard a guess and say we're dealing with amateurs here, but I couldn't take the risk of being wrong—"they'll think you're just getting an estimate to have the window fixed. He'll take a statement once inside your house. The next day, he'll report this to the station as vandalism, and we'll have this on file just in case. Does that sound alright, Mr. Honda?"

Honda looked nervous, but he agreed easily enough. He trusts me, I realized. Damn, talk about extra pressure to perform. "Alright. Until then, I'd like to have the ransom note, pictures of the three missing cats, their names, and Heracles' address. I'll need to talk to him."

"Why do you need to talk to Heracles," Honda asked.

"It's routine procedure," I assured him. "I like to talk to anyone who has access to the premises on a regular basis."

"I know why you want to talk to him. But I can assure you Heracles had nothing to do with this," Honda said, urgent to have me believe him. And I wished I could. The truth is you can't trust anyone. Not even people you pay. _Especially _ people you pay for unskilled labor while you lounge in your ivory tower. The plebs tend to get a little contemptuous when they pick up the pieces for rich slobs. Trust me, I've seen it happen to Romano and his friends. These people think _I work too hard for what I make. And here this guys is, rich as can be and being looked after like a king. He won't miss this _insert stolen item here. The butler did it. End of story.

Still, innocent until proven guilty, and I owed it to this Karpusi to hear his side of the story. I tried to calm Honda. "Mr. Honda, I don't mean to suggest Heracles Karpusi is a suspect. I just want to talk to him. Who knows; maybe he's seen something while he was working. A suspicious guy hanging around, someone taking pictures? I'll have a talk with him and find out. Anything could help."

"Well, Alright," Honda said, relaxing. He gave me the address and number and I wrote it in my book. "Mind if I take pictures of the entrance point?" Honda agreed, getting up from the table to escort me inside the house. I ran and fetched my camera from my car, and rejoined him. Taking pictures of the scene is another nifty trick I picked up while I was getting my act together. I'd bought one of those nice, professional digital cameras. Cost me an arm and a leg—especially when you added in all the lenses I needed for long distance surveillance work—but damn, was it worth it. And the customers liked having the pictures. Nothing like hard evidence to put the 'ha' in your 'ah ha!'

Honda led me to the porch. Unfortunately, he had already tidied up the bits of broken glass. I was kind of miffed; everyone knows you don't tamper with the scene of the crime! But, on the other hand, you probably shouldn't leave piles of glass lying around your house. The break in the outer window was covered with heavy plastic to keep the weather out. The inner door was uncovered, and I started my examination there. Only the bottom pane of glass had been broken. The perp had probably knocked it out and then stuck a hand through to unlock the door. Not for the first time, I wish Honda had called the police. There could have been trace; fibers stuck in the jagged glass, footprints outside—hell, even fingerprints if these guys were stupid enough. Now we'd never know. It was the twentieth already. The trace was gone, whether it be from natural erosion or routine cleaning. My heart sunk a little. I had nothing. Absolutely nothing. And unless—I should say until, but I wasn't feeling particularly optimistic at this moment—the kidnappers called as promised, I would continue to have nothing.

I took photographs regardless. You never knew what would come in handy. Honda came back before I was finished, handing me the documents I'd asked for. There were pictures of three cats, cute little kitties rolling around with toys, or peeking out of boxes. You know—the usual doting pictures that pet owners snapped to show their friends just how gosh darn precious their animals are. Honda had penciled the cats' names on the back of each picture. I shuffled the pictures to the bottom of the stack and looked at the ransom note. Well, at least Honda had had the foresight to put the document in a Ziplock bag. There might be trace; I'd turn it over to Ludwig and see if he could have one of his lab buddies take a peek at it. Again, I was less than hopeful, but I shouldn't rule anything out. After all, Einstein thought that two things were infinite: the universe and human stupidity. And he wasn't sure about the universe.

Lastly, I gave Honda an old telephone, one with a cord. In between the jack on the cradle and the curly cord, there was a chunky black box. I was actually excited as I explained the device to Honda. "See, this box right here records every call you answer. What I need you to do is answer your phone _every time _ on this set, alright? This is important, now," I stressed. "Answer _every call_ on this phone. If it's not the kid—er, catnappers," as soon as it was out of my mouth I realized what a stupid name that was. Too late now. The cat was, um, out of the bag?

This case is going to drive me insane.

"If it's not the _perpetrators, _go ahead and switch to your regular cordless phone and have your conversation. If—_when_ the perps call, we'll have everything recorded. That way we'll get some evidence, and we can play it back as many times as we want to try and pick up clues." Honda nodded diligently. I trusted that he'd remember. This was important to him. After I plugged the phone into an extra wall jack, I double checked my work with pride. Man, I can't wait to see this baby in action. I'd just gotten this little recorder thing, you see. This was the maiden voyage. As long as everything worked properly, this was going to be _awesome._

The only thing left to do was talk to the gardener. I told Honda I'd be in touch, and made my way to my car. Once inside, I dug out my cell phone and dialed the number on the paper. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Finally, an answering machine picked up. There was one of those generic, machine-read messages before the beep. I left a message explaining who I was and that I wished to talk to him to see if he's observed anything suspicious around Honda's house. I left my number, and hung up. Sighing heavily, I punched my steering wheel lightly. What a frustrating turn of events. I was really hoping to get ahold of this guy and getting this case on the road. I'm so sure this guy knows something! I mean, the hired help _always _knows something. They know when the mistress of the house has been stepping out when her husband is out of time. They know when their employer is going to skip town, or when he's been fighting with the wife. And usually, all it takes is a sympathetic ear for them to complain to before they open up like a book.

Or, like I thought earlier, the gardener could be our guy. It troubled me a little that I hadn't been able to catch him on the phone. If he _was _the perpetrator, he sure as hell wasn't gonna call me back! I'd have to chase this asshole down and wade through a shit heap of stupid excuses. _I was _gonna _return your call, but then I had a family emergency and had to skip town. _At least if I'd caught him on the phone I could have bullied him into seeing me today. Thank you, social expectations. These little dances we play—the stupid little mannerisms we follow blindly—they're so ingrained in us that they can easily catch us up.

Alas, I thought as I started my car, I've hit a roadblock for the time being. I'll ring Karpusi back tomorrow, but I won't hold my breath. In the meantime, I have plenty of time to go home and get ready for my date with Roderich. I may not be good at much of that 'lookin fancy' nonsense, but I may have picked up a thing or two from Feliciano.

Alright, I'll confess—Feliciano came over one day, not that long after I started dating Roderich, and wrote up a list of coordinating outfits that I could throw together. I've been cheating a little, so sue me.

**[A/N So sorry I've been AWOL on you guys :( I've just been dealing with some very consuming personal issues lately. It was never my intention to leave my readers hanging like this. But, sometimes life just does not want to cooperate with you. Again, I'm super, super sorry and hopefully I'm back for good this time. **

**To make it up to you, I thought maybe I could do a fun little contest thingy, if you're interested. The pseudo-contest is titled "Write Drunk, Edit Sober!" basically, from now until August 17, 2012 I'll be taking story idea submissions, preferably on my tumblr (anonymous asking is on, so you shouldn't need an account) (I would prefer them sent to my tumblr so that they're all in one place instead of strewn across 2 websites). The submissions should be details for a story you'd like to see me write. More detailed information can be found on my tumblr [ .com] (you can search "Write drunk, Edit Sober" using the magnifying glass at the bottom of the page, and the details will pop up). I'm going to choose my favorite idea from the submissions and write the fanfic out while drunk. That should be interesting. Within the next day or so, I'll edit and do revisions. Both versions will be posted to my tumblr for all to see, and the revision will be posted to this website, with a link to the wonky drunk version. I think this sounds like a hilarious idea. I dunno, I hope you guys are game. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE send in submissions! Anonymous asking is on so don't be shy! The more I get, the more options we all have and the more likely I'll be to do this sort of thing again in the future!] **


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